Fallen so Far
by xRenegade-Sniperx
Summary: 'All they could do was fall from this height' My take on the 100 RoyAi themes. Updated sporadically. Theme oo2: 'They knew that a gunshot could be both a blessing and a curse...'
1. Military Personnel

Okay, so I figured I would take a crack at the RoyAi themes. Beware...they might -_will_ be totally rambly. And mostly focus on the characters' thoughts and such instead of actions and a proper...scene.

**Theme oo1: Military Personnel**

Her father had hated the military. It was, perhaps, a trait he had passed down to her as well. She held no respect for those men and women dressed in the blue uniforms, killing under the pretence that they were 'keeping their nation safe.'

The only reason the nation needed to be kept safe was because of the fact that it was ruled by the military.

Yet, as much as she hated the military and the soldiers who had lowered themselves to becoming its puppets, she could not bring herself to hate him.

Roy Mustang, having returned from a year away in order to prove that he was capable of learning his master -her father's brand of alchemy, had strode right in, wearing that familiar, yet foreign, blue uniform. Like the rest of the soldiers, he had brought death with him.

She still did not hate him, nor did she blame him for her father's death. It had been unfortunate timing (or maybe, she would later think, that was the price of the uniform).

At the funeral, he had managed to shake her –once her father's- views on the military. Or maybe she had just been moved by his dream, his determination and his passion for his country. Even if he had become a soldier, he was still him and she was certain that he would not fall as low as the others. His dreams had been reason she showed him her father's work.

His dreams had been the reason she had followed him into the military (the fact that she couldn't stand the thought of living alone in that house, tied down by her father's research may also have been a contributing factor). She wanted to be useful, to help people, too. She wanted the future that he had told her about.

It was later, with the feel of blood on her hands and the weight of innocents on her shoulders and the burden on her back, that she realised she had placed her hopes in a nightmare instead. And so had he.

She still could not hate him; even as the flames ravaged whole districts in a matter of seconds, destroying hundreds of lives with only a snap of gloved fingers, even as she tried to ignore the screams coming from inside one of the more intact buildings –an old hospital of sorts- as he helped with their sick experiments. Every time that array (an array which had been as carefully, slowly stitched into white gloves as it had onto her back) was used to take even more lives, she swore she could feel her own back burn with their pain.

A pain that she would later willingly bring upon herself so that there would be no more white gloves, no more 'flame alchemists'. So that no one else could ever use her father's work as a weapon.

She would never hate him. Even if she hated herself, even if she resented –only a little- her friends in the military, even if she felt a pang of remorse every time she saw Edward with his pocket watch. Roy had been impacted by the war far worse than she had. He was too empathetic, whereas she had learned long ago to bury her emotions, hiding them from public view in order look strong, hiding them from even herself.

She would remain that way, strong. For his dream, for that future, for him. She would remain a part of the military she hated, she would remain a soldier she loathed, just so he could protect him and, by doing that, protect her country.

She could live with what she had lowered herself to because they would help each other back up again.

* * *

This one: while I, myself am of the belief that Riza is not in the military purely for Roy, but for the future of their country (their dream), I think it would be nice to say that he's the reason she's there. Because it does need to seem a tad more like RoyAi.

Don't I have another story to be writing? Yes...yes I do...


	2. Gunshot

**Theme oo2: Gunshot**

It was astonishing just how much the sound of a gunshot could mean to him. It meant she was alright, she was able to fight; a relief. However, it also meant that she had encountered the enemy, an enemy he feared she would not be able to combat; that was the thing that spurred him on despite the aching pain in his side, despite his blurred vision and hazy mind. The sound of gunshots – continuous, rapid, erratic – brought a new sharpness to his senses and adrenaline rushed through his veins as he half ran, half stumbled his way down the curved corridors, praying that the gunshots would not end.

It was astonishing how much pure emotion had bubbled to the surface at those few simple words, that realisation – rage, hatred, anguish, sorrow, hopelessness, – she had lost him, failed to protect him, _failed him. _It had made rational thought impossible, everything seemed to distort and she wasn't fully aware of her own actions. Her own feelings had pulled the trigger, again and again and again, until no more bullets were left. It was simple to reload and repeat and throw away that gun when it was emptied into the woman, the _homunculus_, before her in order to pull out another gun and unleash the last of her rage. And her fingers had continued to pull the trigger even when the only sound that resulted was a disappointing 'click' until her rage finally dissolved into despair and she fell along with her gun. It had been a pointless act; nothing she did had fazed the woman in the slightest even though she had done everything she could have. All that was left was to accept her own defeat.

Soon, the only sounds that reached him were those of his own staggered footfalls and rapid breathing and that worried him much more than the gunshots ever had. The lack of noise meant two things for him; either she had managed to kill the homunculus or she was out of bullets. The fact that _that woman_ hadn't died even when he had blown her apart or when he had ripped the philosopher's stone out of her chest combined with the sheer number of shots he had heard, told him that the latter was most likely the case. Such a thought urged his body onwards, faster than thought could be possible in his current state, and soon voices floated to his ears as he neared a doorway.

A dark shadow loomed over her, but it was not the shadow of an enemy. The boy trapped in a suit of armour had (foolishly) stepped between her and the immortal woman. The boy's words had failed to register in her mind but she found herself shouting at him to save herself. There was nothing she could do; she was useless in the face of such a foe but it didn't matter, nothing mattered now. Hughes was dead, and now so, too, was Roy and their dream had died with him. She had not the capability to continue reaching for their dream on her own – all she could do was protect Roy and it seemed that even the flame alchemy she had given him had not managed to do that. She was only vaguely aware of Alphonse shouting back at her before a familiar voice broke the air and the feeling of cold steel as it contrasted with a searing heat.

He had heard it; she had given up and Alphonse had screamed that he wouldn't let anyone else die even as the homunculus tore through his armour. It was his cue and he commended Alphonse on his bravery before incinerating the homunculus. After several infernos (and nearly getting stabbed again), the homunculus finally died, turning to dust and he collapsed in a mixture of his wounds, fatigue, and relief. Relief that his lieutenant had come crashing around the wall Alphonse had erected, calling out his rank – she was alright, she was alive and that's all that mattered.

He was alive, _alive_, and that's all that mattered. Though he would later berate her for losing her will to live, he still trusted her to watch his back and that was something she would not let herself fail at (not again, for she would make use of this second chance; she would not make the mistake of leaving his side again).

They knew that a gunshot could be both a blessing and a curse, for it could mean that she was still able to fight (to protect him) or it could mean that he has lost the way and wandered too far off the path – this final gunshot would mean the end of their dream. But she knew and he knew that as long as the other was there, everything would be okay; they lived by supporting the other and if they fell, at least they fell together.

* * *

Meh…it's sort of rambly. I was writing off writer's block and then went over it and fixed it a bit. It's okay, I guess. And yes, when I said sporadic updating, I really meant it. Be prepared for long waiting periods.


End file.
